


The Sheik of Araby

by Sunbeam49



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9054646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunbeam49/pseuds/Sunbeam49
Summary: Greg is dreaming.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just porn, ordinary old Rupert Graves porn with Mycroft and a couple of dancing girls (the girls are canon in Rupert-world.)
> 
> Warning: for those who find this sort of thing disagreeable, there is some old-fashioned John Riddell sexism and imperialism.
> 
> Not Brit-picked, but I AM the world's biggest Evelyn Waugh fan!

Greg is dreaming.

In the dream, he knew, as one somehow does in dreams, that his name was John Riddell and that he was in the African desert staring at the sky. As he looked at the immense sweep of the Milky Way, his dream-self thought: ah, in addition to being a great pleasure in itself, the great labial curve of stars also reminded him of all the other wonderful treats he’d had in his life.

For example: tonight’s company. He’d stopped at a populous crossroads with his companion, and they’d made plans for the evening with a passing pimp. (Of course, baksheesh was exchanged, but that was how it worked: his companion, a real swot, just hunched his shoulders together as Riddell bargained.) When a price was agreed on, Riddell gave him a smile. “You’re not a sportin’ man, are you, Doctor?”

Then, after they’d pitched the tent, lit the lanterns, and set out the pillows, spiced dates, and chocs, the Doctor said, “oh, look, no licorice!” and, quick as snakes, was out the tent door.

Well, the Doctor would be back, or he wouldn’t.

But as soon as Riddell sat down on the tent pillows and began to clean his gun, he heard the sound of camel bells. He looked out the tent flap into the breathtaking cobalt night, and there they were! A single camel being led by a stoic youth in a smart fez, with two pert young misses seated on the camel.

More baksheesh, and the camel and the boy disappeared in the desert darkness.

He opened the tent door and bowed to the girls. “Hello, darlings. My, aren’t you a picture tonight! And dressed so adorably!” Then he put his strong arms around their small brown shoulders.

Truth to tell, they were dressed adorably, hair fixed in those delightful Egyptian bobs, all oiled black curls with golden fillets around their temples. Under their jeweled velvet vests, he could see they were wearing pretty little string camis. But the real focus for John Riddell was their gauzy trousers, hiding yet revealing everything at the same time.  
Don’t get hasty, Jack my boy, he told himself. You’ve got all the girls and all the night.

“Where’s the other man, the one in the funny bowtie?” one girl, bolder than the other, asked.

“I think a lion ate him. It’s rather sad. Hopin’ you two will cheer me up. Here, let’s get comfortable on these pillows, and you can tell me about yourselves. By the way, I’m John. What are your pretty little names?”

The girls sat, but the bold girl was a little more careless with her knees than the other.

John was immediately stiff, but he could stay stiff all night. One of his many talents.

The careless girl pointed at herself and said, “Salihah.” 

Oh, she was just his type with a delicious overbite and a face full of freckles. “Look at those freckles! Do you have English blood?” 

“My grandfather was a minor official with the British government. I have five sisters, and we all have the same freckles.”

Steady on, Jacko. 

“I’ll just call you Sal. And you, my pretty, what do they call you?”

By Jove, if she didn’t open her knees too. “They call me Bastet. The cat.”

“How appropriate! You ARE one cunning little puss. If it’s all right with you, I’m going to call you Bessie.” The girls scooted closer to him. “I say, aren’t those vests a bit warm? I know it’s night time in the desert, but this is a very warm tent.”

The compliant girls took off their velvet vests, and, as they did, their young breasts bounced against those barely-there camisoles. John let his hands slide down the sides of their slender bodies.

“Take off your waistcoat, too, sir,” Bessie said.

“Oh, my pleasure. Let’s all get comfortable. By the way, how do these doodads work?” He was hunting for the string that unloosened the camis.

“I’d like a piece of chocolate first,” said Sal. John leaned over and brought the sweets plate to her. She popped one into her mouth; then, as she swallowed the chocolate with its special filling, she said, “Wait, you’ve not messed with these chocs, have you, Sir John?”

“Oh, no, no, no. Well, yes. But, look, I’ll eat three of them. I love my chocs.” And as the chocs went down his throat, his blood, already hot, began to steam. “What about you, Bessie?” He picked a particularly glossy choc. “Open those beautiful lips and down it goes.”

She swallowed it; then she had the most darling coughing fit. He patted her back gently, still looking for the master string. Aha, there it was. He tugged it, and the camisole came away as neatly as the shell on a hard cooked egg.

Her breasts were high and small, with very dark nipples.

Could he be any stiffer? 

“Here, Sal, I’ll just remove my shirt, and you can take off your camisole. It’s quite warm in here.”

When that was done, the girls leaned closer to him. “We like your jewelry,” Sal said.

“See this necklace? It’s made from a lion’s tooth. Came from the first ‘un I shot, big boy he was. But you know what they say about lion’s teeth and love, don’t you?” 

The girls giggled.

“And this is an elephant hair necklace. It came from a most reluctant Ibo chieftain.” 

Sal moved in toward John. 

“No closer, Sal, until you pull off those pants.”

She broke into a huge smile, all overbite and slanted eyes. Then she got up, facing away from him. She seemed to be fiddling with the front of her gauzy trousers and, with the grace of a gazelle, slowly let the trousers slide to her feet. Dammit if she wasn’t wearing a waist ornament made of five silver chains, and her sweet rump, full as a pear, was taut against the chains. 

Meanwhile, Bessie was stroking John through his trousers. He looked at her. “Unbutton me then – my great John Thomas wants to see you.” Bessie did, and, as she did, her eyes widened. She said something in Egyptian to Sal, who quickly turned around. 

“My Lord!” Sal breathed when she saw what John had on display. Meanwhile, Bessie’s little satin hand was playing up and down the length of him. 

He leaned over and tapped her cheek softly. “Kiss it, why don’t you?”

Oh, oh, oh, that mouth was divine, warm and wet and ready. John had to do his special breathing exercises to avoid climaxing. He had a long night ahead of him. 

Finally, Bessie came up for air, and quick as quick Sal placed her naked bottom in John’s lap and began to rub and down his cock. 

“What do you want, little Sal?”

She moved sideways so she could whisper in his ear, “I want that lion’s tooth.”

“Oh, you do, do you? Well, can you guess what you’ll have to do to earn it?”

“A splendid little fuck?”

“Not exactly. I want a fuck, but only in your snug little bum hole. I’m simply dyin’ for it.”

“Do you promise me the lion’s tooth?”

“Upon completion of the bumfuck, you may have this lion’s tooth without let or hindrance. Now on your knees, Sal.”

She obligingly got down on all fours and stuck her plump posterior up. Looking at that rear end, hard and fat as a pony’s, John felt as if his eyes would come out of his head.

He pulled off the rest of his clothes and positioned himself, aroused as he could be, at her nethers. “First, let me get myself wet with your sweet pussy. Then we’ll proceed to your tight little hole.” 

Her cunt was hot and wet. He watched himself slowly disappearing into it, and reappearing again, and the same thing again and again while Sal cooed like a dove. And just when he thought he was losing control, he pulled out. Meanwhile, Bessie moved her hand to touch him. 

“No, sweet, let me gather myself. Say, I like lookin’ too. Why don’t you play with yourself? I’ve got a nice whip handle you can use.” He padded to his trunk and got it out. “It’s got a ridged surface you’re sure to enjoy. Plus, it’s small enough for a young girl like you. Let me see you try it now.”

“What about me?” Sal said in a fierce little voice.

John retook his position behind her and moved the great head of his cock up and down the sweet creases of her ass and puss. “How’s that?”

“Stick it in me now!”

“Bessie, you start and we’ll see who finishes first. Oh wait, let’s make a game of it. There’ll be a prize in it for you.”

Bessie sat with her eyes closed and her knees far apart, and, fresh as paint, began to work the whip handle into her cunt. 

John got an eyeful, and, as he watched himself push against Sal’s sweet little rosebud; he loved that popping sensation when the head of his cock went past the taut opening of her bum hole. Then he settled in rocking back and forth. Her inner flesh was hot as fire, and his blood roared as he pulled it in and out and in and out, and he could tell she loved it too. Oh, now both girls were moaning, and he was gasping. It was as if the tent, like the Milky Way, were all aroused woman and he was the mythic god who fucked it all. “Flick your little button, Bessie. I want to see you shudder.”

Bessie left the whip handle in, and, wetting her hand with her mouth, did that thing girls did, rubbing the gently-haired triangle at the base of her body, her hand swathing back and forth and back and forth.

At the sight of that, he could feel he was riding the crest of his climax . . .

 

“Gregory, are you still asleep! Heavens, the day is wasting.” 

And, as Gregory awakes, blinking and breathing hard, Mycroft fusses about, pulling the covers and sheets off him.

Then: “Oh, god,” Mycroft says, “oh, god.” And he swoops down with his beautiful bird mouth and takes as much of Gregory’s cock in his mouth as he can.

Now it’s Gregory’s turn to gasp, and, when he feels the back of Mycroft’s throat pulsing against him, he can’t stop, his climax is like a great wave growing in his body; then he doesn’t know where he is for a moment, and only comes to as his heart nearly pounds out of his chest. 

“Gregory, what were you dreaming about? Your cock was red as fire, and you came like an arrow.” 

“I was dreaming of fucking you in a tent, Mycroft. My god!”

“Oh, my little sheik of Araby! Here I’ll put the sheets up to make a tent and we can have another go at it.”

“Turn over, Mycroft. Let me eat your delicious ass.” Greg knows Mycroft loves it when he uses filthy language in bed, “and then I’ll suck your big fat cock.”

“Oh, do! Gregory, my lovely beast in the jungle, be a regular lion!”

And Gregory smiles his beautiful smile as he descends upon Mycroft.


End file.
